


Breaking Fast

by Zath_Chauvert



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: AU, Drama, Multi, Slash, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-07-29
Updated: 2004-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zath_Chauvert/pseuds/Zath_Chauvert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after Curse of the Black Pearl. All Lieutenant Gillette wanted was some peace and quite and a beer. What he ends up getting is entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: ** Breaking Fast, Chapter One  
> **Author: ** Zath Chauvert  
> **Summary: ** All Lieutenant Gillette wanted was some peace and quite and a beer. What he ends up getting is entirely different.  
> **Rating: ** PG-13  
> **Feedback: ** Yes, please! Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.  
> **Disclaimer: ** All of the major characters in this story belong to Disney. I'm not making any profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.  
> ****

**Breaking Fast**  
By Zath Chauvert

**Chapter One: The Beginning**

All Lieutenant Arthur Gillette had wanted had been a quiet evening with a pint or two of beer that hadn't been sitting around in rotting barrels for upwards of half a year. Well, to be honest, there were lots of other things that he wanted too, but he knew that he should keep his goals realistic in order to avoid disappointment (or worse), so the quiet evening and the good beer had been all that he had actually asked for. Beer that wasn't stale or flat and a few peaceful hours in which to enjoy it couldn't be too much to expect, could it?

"Did you hear that, Art? Well, did you hear it? You weren't even paying attention, were you?"

_This_ was what he had gotten instead. To be honest, the beer at the sign of the Flying Manatee was quite good, but everything else was keeping him from enjoying it. In fact, he was being prevented from drinking his beer at all, whether he enjoyed it or not. He was having a bad night. He had an unwanted woman (a girl, really, if one judged her by the maturity of her actions rather than the maturity of her body) in his lap and the beginnings of what promised to be a serious tension headache pounding at his brain. And now, to make matters even worse yet, his drinking companion, one Lieutenant Theodore Groves, was elbowing him in the ribs and laughing loudly enough to wake the dead men swaying in the breeze at Gallows Point. Neither the night nor his head showed any signs that they would be improving anytime soon, and the woman continued to cling to him like a barnacle despite his best efforts to dislodge her, but at least he could do something about Groves. He temporarily gave up trying to get the daft woman to cease playing with his wig as he turned towards his fellow lieutenant.

"Yes, I heard what the man said, Teddy, every single time you and he said it. I've answered you twice before, but I'll say it again. I know that you've been bored these last few months. We've all been bored, but the fact remains that stolen chickens still aren't tour concern." Gillette next turned his attention to the farmer sitting across the small round table from him. The farmer, a sunburned but otherwise handsome man in his mid thirties and coincidentally the only male at the table who did not have any female companionship, returned Gillette's gaze but, for the moment, said nothing. "Look, Mr. Trently," Gillette began and then paused in order to try to fight down the massive amounts of irritation that he was feeling. He didn't want to frighten the man by seeming overly hostile, just let him know that he was being annoying. "Sir, I lament the loss of your poultry, but there are land-based authorities that you should contact in regards to your troubles. Officially, our jurisdiction ends at the high tide line, so unless your chickens were living on little rafts in the bay, there's nothing we can legally do for you."

"Um, actually..." The farmer's face had taken on an expression of confusion as he looked back and forth between the scowling Lieutenant Gillette and the chuckling Lieutenant Groves. "I never said anything about any of my chickens being stolen."

"Then what in the blazes have you been blathering on about for the past ten minutes?"

"Eggs. My chickens weren't taken. Their eggs were, at least a half dozen of them."

"Oh for the love of God!" Gillette rolled his eyes with disgust. "We're the Royal Navy. We fight off invading armadas. We-- Would you please stop that!" The girl in Gillette's lap had apparently decided that his lack of positive response to her was because she was not being forward enough, so she had taken it upon herself to start unbuttoning his uniform and exploring the interior. He had to spend several moments defending himself from her questing fingers before he was able to return to his previous line of thought. "We are the Royal Navy. We make sure that the island is not lost to foreign nations. We repel, capture, and punish pirates. We occasionally render assistance to merchantmen or fishing vessels that are having difficulty at sea. If some thief strolls into your henhouse and wanders off with a few birds, it's an unfortunate breach of the law but not our concern. We care even less when all the thief gets away with is the makings of breakfast for three. We don't rejoice in the fact that the crime has been committed, but if a problem isn't nautical in nature, then it's not _our_ problem."

Trently gaped at Gillette for several moments then stormed away. Gillette didn't even bother to watch him go. He had already redirected his aggravated glare to Lieutenant Groves, who was still laughing.

"I fail to see just what's so funny about the situation."

"You really _weren't_ paying attention!" Groves's mirth probably would have had him slapping the table if both of his hands hadn't been already occupied, one with a mug of rum punch and the other with the left breast of the pretty little brunette on his lap. Even as it was, the little blond who was also in Groves's lap looked like she was beginning to feel ignored. Fortunately, both women were quite petite, because Groves's chair wouldn't have withstood the strain if they had been any larger.

"I was paying enough attention to know that that idiot wanted to waste military resources in order to locate six eggs which, if his hens were having a poor laying day, might never have existed at all."

"If that's all you heard, then you weren't paying attention at all!"

"What are you talking about?"

"That man's eggs were most definitely stolen, because he saw the culprit making his escape, eggs in hand."

"This still sounds like a job for the local constabulary," Gillette said with a sigh. He was tired of arguing. His head hurt. He just wanted to sit and quietly drink his beer. His poor neglected beer, it had been sitting just out of reach for more than half an hour as he tried to divest himself of first the remora-like woman on his lap and then of the equally tenacious (but, thankfully, less physical) Farmer Trently. He longed for the good old days when people were capable of taking a hint. Suddenly, a thought struck him. "It wasn't one of our sailors was it, Teddy? Please tell me that this whole damnable load of tripe wasn't caused by one of our deck hands at liberty looking to make an omelette."

"No, he wasn't one of ours." Groves was _still_ grinning! If the man didn't produce some sort of useful information in the extremely near future, Gillette was severely tempted to beat it out of him. Fortunately, Groves either sensed Gillette's growing anger at his reticence or he simply felt that he had held off the denouement for long enough. Whatever the case, he averted his fellow lieutenant's wrath by finally saying, "Before you informed the good farmer that we weren't interested in his troubles, he was in the process of swearing up and down that he saw none other than Captain Jack Sparrow leaving his chicken coop, carrying a heap of eggs in his hat."  



	2. The End Of The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** Breaking Fast, Chapter Two  
> **Author: ** Zath Chauvert  
> **Summary: ** All Lieutenant Gillette wanted was some peace and quite and a beer. What he ends up getting is entirely different.  
> **Rating: ** PG-13  
> **Feedback: ** Yes, please! Click that "Review" button! Remember, feedback is the only way I can know that anyone is reading this. Having an audience makes me happy, and a happy Zath is more inclined to update than a Zath who feels ignored.  
> **Disclaimer: ** I own the farmer, the midshipmen, and the wenches. Everything else belongs to Disney, except for Port Royal, which belongs to Jamaica. I'm not making any sort of profit from any of this, not even from the farmer, the midshipmen, or the wenches.  
> **Author's Note: ** I should have said this in part one, but for those readers who don't already know, Lieutenant Theodore Groves is the naval officer who annoys Norrington by saying, "That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen," when Sparrow and Turner steal the Interceptor. Anyway, here's part two!

**Breaking Fast**  
By Zath Chauvert

**Chapter Two: The End of the Beginning**

"Sparrow!" Gillette shot to his feet. The girl tumbled out of his lap. It was only reflex, not concern, that caused him to catch her mere inches before she hit the floor. He hauled her to her feet, not even realizing that he had done anything until she relaxed in his arms and resumed her previous attempts at unbuttoning his waistcoat. Even then, he barely noticed.

"Yes, Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate extraordinaire," Groves said. "Mr. Trently said he recognized him from that failed attempt at hanging him way back when. How exactly is it possible that you didn't hear any of this the first time that we went through it?" Gillette didn't respond. He probably didn't even register the fact that Groves had made a comment at all, because at that moment he was too busy mentally running through all the possibilities that unfolded themselves at the mention of the pirate's name.

As Gillette himself had said not too many moments earlier, the past few months had been extremely boring for the British Royal Navy. Somehow, England had fallen into a condition of being at peace with Holland, France, _and_ Spain, all at the same time. Everyone knew that such a state of affairs couldn't possibly last for very long. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to declare war again. But in the meantime, without any of their traditional maritime rivals to fight, the Navy was left feeling rather useless, especially in the Caribbean. For as long as the peace endured, there was little for the small Port Royal fleet to do but sail in circles around Jamaica at irregular intervals to make sure that all was well along the island's coasts.

Sparrow's presence changed everything. If Sparrow was in Port Royal, then his ship couldn't be very far away. The Black Pearl was most definitely _not_ the last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, regardless of whatever claims Sparrow might try to make to the contrary, but it was still quite definitely a pirate ship. It was a very fast and very grand pirate ship, and it was probably worth a fortune. In these times of peace, Spanish, Dutch, and French ships were all considered to be friends, making pirate ships the last legitimate source of prize money. Part of Gillette's mind instantly became occupied with calculating what a lieutenant's share in such a prize might be.

The rest of Gillette's mind was busy planning the best way to go about capturing the pirate vessel. The Black Pearl seemed to be able to outrun anything afloat, but if put in a position where running wasn't an option, the Dauntless could take her. With Sparrow ashore, the Pearl was probably holed up in one of the many small hidden coves that lined the rocky shores nearby. Once they found which cove was serving as the Pearl's anchorage, they would simply need to block the entrance and wait for the pirates to surrender. The Pearl might be a great ship in her way, but she wasn't a first-rate ship of the line. With the Dauntless carrying at least double, if not triple, the number of guns that the Pearl had, at most they would need to fire a broadside or two. Victory was almost assured if they moved quickly enough. All that was required was being able to locate the pirate ship before it slipped away, back into open waters again.

The action would be just the thing that was needed to raise the morale of a crew that had been left idle for far too long. Gillette could feel his own morale improving already. And maybe, just maybe, if someone put a few well-chosen words in the proper ears, the Admiralty would buy the Black Pearl and put it into service instead of selling it off to some merchant. Then, they could delay Sparrow's execution long enough for the man to see his former ship being used to hunt pirates. Gillette thought that it would be the perfect revenge for the humiliation he and his fellow officers had suffered when Sparrow had first captured the Dauntless and then used it as bait in order to escape with the Interceptor, and he was sure that Commodore Norrington would agree with him. James never said anything about the incident, but Gillette knew that it rankled him even more deeply than it did Gillette himself. At the smallest allusion to the ill-smelling rogue, the typically calm and collected Norrington would immediately tense, turn an alarming shade of red, and change the subject as quickly as politeness would allow. The problem had gotten to the point that everyone, even the usually oblivious types like Governor Swann, avoided touching on the topic for fear of it having detrimental effects on the Commodore's health. _Maybe_, Gillette thought, _once the pirate was dead James would finally..._

Gillette's long reverie came to an abrupt end as his brain suddenly yanked his thoughts back to the present so quickly that it felt almost like a physical blow. "We have to tell the Commodore about this!" he exclaimed.

"It's an amazing coincidence," Groves said blandly, "but Mr. Trently was saying the exact same thing not ten minutes ago." Theodore was hiding his mouth behind the blond woman's curly head, but even without being able to see it, Gillette knew exactly what sort of smile it was trying to twitch itself into against the will of its owner. "And I may be wrong, but I think he's saying it again, even as we speak." Groves motioned towards the other side of the room with a jerk of his head. Gillette followed his gaze and saw that Trently appeared to be in the midst of haranguing Mr. O'Keefe and Mr. Blackthorne, a pair of junior midshipmen whose combined ages did not yet total thirty years. The Flying Manatee was the public house of choice for Port Royal's Naval and Marine officers, but on that particular night the two boys were the only persons of military rank that Mr. Trently could turn to other than the lieutenants with whom he had just parted company not long before.

Gillette sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell me that I should apologize to the man." Lieutenant Arthur Gillette was an officer of many talents. He could whip green landsmen into a well-trained gun crew in days. He could recite the entire text of the Articles of War in three and a half minutes. He could go more then fifty-six hours without sleeping. He was good with numbers and was excellent at solving anagrams. He could fight the undead with only a moderate loss of composure. Unfortunately, he was absolute rubbish at making apologies.

"It _would_ be the proper thing to do."

"It would be proper for me to apologize or proper for you to tell me to apologize?"

"You're stalling. Go on, engage the enemy and glory will be yours!"

Gillette rolled his eyes. "He is _not_ the enemy!"

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" Groves said with a grin. He gulped down the last of his punch and stood up, taking much more care of his female friends than Gillette had. "Look," he added, "you're wasting time. If you can't tell the man that you're sorry, you can at least thank him. Then we can move on to more important things, like seeing some action before we all die of boredom."

"Thank him? What do you mean 'thank him'?"

Now it was Groves's turn to roll his eyes. "I mean that you just walk over to the nice farmer and say, 'Oh thank you, sir, for finding a pirate for me to chase. This is the best thing that's happened to me in months.'"

If looks could kill, in that moment Gillette would have earned himself an arrest and court martial for murder. Fortunately for Groves, Gillette was neither a gorgon nor a basilisk, so the flustered lieutenant was only able to gape at his overly merry friend for a long moment before beating an angry retreat that was unintentionally identical to the earlier departure of the man he needed to apologize to. Gillette's giggling admirer, who had once again attached herself to his body in a most unseemly manner, went with him. He was one step away from declaring her a parasite (which would have meant that the Dauntless's surgeon would have been allowed to remove her with a lancet) when she finally made herself useful. Her persistent groping, which had previously been so distracting, suddenly provided him with the inspiration that he needed to deal with the farmer. It was an odd way to find a Muse, but it allowed Gillette to forego the verbal stumbling, the fishing for words, that he always suffered from on the rare occasions that he was forced to apologize to anyone who wasn't a superior officer.

So great was his inspiration that when he finally reached Mr. Trently, instead of suffering from the awkwardness he usually felt in such situations, his words came tumbling out one after another in a veritable torrent. Without a single pause for breath, he proclaimed, "My dear sir, it has been brought to my attention that I was unforgivably brusque with you just now, and for that I must offer my most sincere apologies. I deeply regret my behavior. We shall be looking into your problem immediately. In the meantime, please allow me to make restitution by presenting you with this buxom young lady. May the two of you have a long and happy life together." With that, he thrust the girl into Trently's arms and disappeared out the door before either the man or the woman could open their mouths to reply.


	3. Rising Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** Breaking Fast, Chapter Three  
> **Author: ** Zath Chauvert  
> **Rating: ** PG-13  
> **Feedback: ** Yes, please! Click that "Review" button! Remember, feedback is the only way I can know that anyone is reading this. Having an audience makes me happy, and a happy Zath is more inclined to update than a Zath who feels ignored.  
> **Disclaimer: ** They're still not mine, and I'm still not making any profit from this.

**Breaking Fast**  
By Zath Chauvert

**Chapter Three: Rising Action**

Gillette began feeling immeasurably better the moment he stepped out into the open air, and his newly acquired good mood persisted despite the fact that most of his beloved beer had been left behind in its mug. O'Keefe and Blackthorne had both watched him go, so he suspected that the ample remainder of his evening's libations would be on its way down the throat of either one midshipman or the other long before one of the Flying Manatee's serving wenches managed to stop by the table to clean up. Both young gentlemen were famous for doing that sort of thing. However, it was a small price to pay for being rid of that girl and being on his way towards bigger and better things. If all went well, he would be a richer and much more satisfied man before dawn. He was looking forward to the eventual confrontation with Sparrow. It was long overdue. He got his bearings and, with a spring in his step, strode off in the direction of Commodore Norrington's house.

From behind, Gillette could hear Groves's voice calling out through the night, "I say there, Art! Art!" but he continued walking. "Ho, Arthur!" Still, Gillette continued walking. His stiff leather shoes tapped out a steady, persistent rhythm on the street's slightly uneven paving stones. It was several blocks before Groves, who was trailing one of his women off each arm, managed to catch up. "For God's sake, Gillette, heave to for a moment, will you?"

When Gillette finally stopped walking and rounded on Groves in a pool of light pouring out of a shop window, he did it so abruptly that the other man almost ran into him. "What is it now, Teddy?" he demanded. "You wanted me to listen to the farmer, so we're going to talk to the Commodore. What else can you possibly want right now?" Groves just raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his two companions. Gillette rolled his eyes (he felt like he had been doing that a lot lately) and then said, "Yes, what about them?"

"What do you think I mean?" Groves grinned. Gillette wondered if Theodore would remain quite so prone to grinning if someone were to relieve him of several of his teeth. Then the meaning of Groves's words dawned on him and he couldn't do anything but stare. Groves just shrugged and said, "There's nothing wrong with getting a little action before we go off to see some action, so to speak."

"You can't be serious!" Gillette said, nearly shrieking, once he was able to find his voice.

"Why not?" Only a man like Groves could ask that question under such circumstances without already knowing the answer.

"Because we're _busy_, that's why not!"

Groves laughed dismissively. "It's not as if it's necessary for both of us to be present in order for Commodore Norrington to learn about Sparrow being in Port Royal. One man, two men, or even three men, it all boils down to the same thing." Then, seeing that Gillette was not looking even slightly convinced, he added, "And of the two of us, Norrington likes you better."

"You're just saying that so you can have time to run off and tumble your little friends."

"No, no, it's true!" Groves glanced around cautiously, more out of habit than anything else. They were in a nearly deserted street, not a crowded man-of-war. The only people close enough to hear their conversation were Groves's two ladies, both of whom had little or no interest in military politics. Even so, he drew Gillette close to him and spoke in a low, confidential voice that was barely louder than a whisper. "The Commodore has never said so, but I'm sure he thinks that I'm overly fond of pirates, especially Jack Sparrow. I made one imprudent comment, and he's held it against me ever since!"

At this point, Gillette had to exert a great effort to keep from smiling. He had been in the water, swimming away from the remains of a shattered rowboat, at the time that the comment was made, but he knew exactly which phrase Groves was talking about. Everyone knew about it. It had become legendary. _'That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen.'_

As if reading Gillette's mind, Groves grimaced and pressed on, saying, "I've spent the past four and a half years trying time and again to convince him that I feel exactly the same way that he does, totally and unequivocally in favor of the capture and execution of any and all pirates, but it hasn't done any good. These days it's impossible to mention Sparrow's name without the Commodore looking like he's going to rupture something, so I can't even try to explain myself without making things even worse. When this commission is over, you can bet that he won't be recommending _me_ for command of a ship."

As quickly as it had come, Gillette's urge to smile was gone, replaced by a scowl that he made no attempt to hide. "And therefore I should let you pop off for a bit of fun while I do my duty to king and country, so that this imbalance in the scales of social justice might be righted?" Gillette muttered in tones somewhere between a grumble and a growl. "If that's what you're saying, then you might want to be careful, because if you have too much fun it could upset the scales in the other direction and earn Commodore Norrington the right to distain you even more than before."

"What exactly are you saying?" Groves asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Me? I'm not saying anything at all," Gillette snapped. Oh well, so much for his good mood. It had been nice while it had lasted.

"Well, all _I'm_ saying is that the Commodore might be a little more agreeable to the suggestion that we go off into the night, chasing after pirates, if the suggestion came from you instead of from myself."

"So the extra pair of warm bodies is just a consolation prize then? Most of us make do with nothing at all when we don't have Norrington's favor."

"And that's why you're so bitter all the time." At that, Gillette began to turn dark red and splutter. It was a fair approximation of Norrington's usual reaction to someone mentioning Jack Sparrow, only in Gillette's case there was actually about ten times more indignation visibly twisting his features. Groves took a step back, carefully placing his two consorts behind himself, just in case Gillette exploded, either figuratively or literally, right there on the spot. Groves also took advantage of his fellow lieutenant's inability to articulate, hurriedly returning to his original argument before Gillette regained the power of speech. "Look, it's not like I'm asking to stay behind and still get a full share of the prize money. I'll be onboard the Dauntless as soon as all liberty men are recalled. In the meantime, I plan to make efficient use of my remaining moments of leisure. There's no law against that."

Gillette opened his mouth to reply but then snapped it shut so quickly that Rosalind and Catherine (for those were the women's names, though he did not know it) would later both swear that they could hear his teeth clack together in the silence of the cooling night. He looked back and forth between Groves and the two women. The blond one appeared to be staring at an invisible spot on the wall of one of the houses across the street, but he could tell from the tightness in her jaw that there was some comment that she desperately wanted to make. The brunette was glaring at him with open dislike that bordered on hostility. Both women clung to Groves possessively, giving every indication that they would not relinquish their prize to Gillette without a fight. Groves himself just stood there, waiting for Gillette's answer. His face was schooled into a carefully blank expression with his eyes half lidded, as if he were afraid to give any sign that might turn Gillette even further against his cause than he already was.

It did not take Gillette very long to reach his decision. After all, there was nothing to be gained by fighting with his fellow lieutenant. As infuriating as it was, Groves was right when he said that there was no need for both of them to inform Commodore Norrington that Jack Sparrow had been sighted in Port Royal. And now that he stopped to think, Gillette admitted to himself that he would really be much happier if he could talk to James alone. Still, he was feeling obstinate, so he put on a show of carefully deliberating over the issue while the ladies grew impatient and Groves tried not to squirm.

Once he felt that the other man had suffered for long enough, Gillette said, "Fine, do whatever you want, but you'd best be quick about it. If the Commodore thinks that the situation is urgent enough, he might sail immediately with whatever crew happens to be aboard rather than waiting for everyone else to wander back to the ship in their own sweet time. He might not even bother to signal anything to shore." He had to finish his last sentence with his voice raised to nearly shouting level because, as soon as they heard the words, "do whatever you want," Rosalind and Catherine had eagerly turned Groves around and started to drag him back down the way that they had come. The smiling Groves was putting up no resistance.

"And then again, Arthur," Groves called back over his shoulder without pausing or even slowing his retreat, "he might say that it can all wait until morning or later."

"You don't know that he'll say that, Teddy!"

"You're right, I don't." Groves may have shrugged to emphasize his point, but he was moving through a thicker patch of darkness, so Gillette, whose eyes had grow used to the light from the window that he was still standing near, couldn't see well enough to be certain if he did or not. Either way, it didn't matter. "But," Groves continued from the darkness, still moving away, "_you_ know where my rooms are. If the worst should happen and he says that we sail immediately, all you have to do is knock on my door as you go past on your way to the docks." He stepped into another patch of light, allowing Gillette to see that he was now walking backwards, grinning as his two lady-friends steered him by the elbows to keep his course straight. As Groves went, he had to lift his knees high to keep from catching his heels against the uneven cobblestones, so he looked almost like he was marching in reverse. Then he and the women slid into darkness again.

Gillette turned and resumed walking up the hill to Commodore Norrington's house. A moment later, a thought struck Gillette. He turned back to inform Groves that if they did need to sail on short notice, then showing a leg wouldn't buy him an extra ten minutes to get dressed, but Groves and the women were nowhere to be seen, not even as a rough three-headed silhouette in the shadows. However, Gillette could still hear them, not footsteps, but other sounds. He had underestimated just how eager those women had been for Groves's company. Judging by the noises that the three were making, Gillette could well imagine that Groves was living up to his word and making the most efficient use of his remaining leisure time as was humanly possible. It also seemed that, should the need actually arise, it would be quite unlikely that knocking on Groves's door would do any good because the man would be unable to hear it from his place up against a sweaty wall in a dark, secluded alley. Gillette paused, grudgingly wished a small amount of good luck (or at least a lack of pox) to Groves in his romantic endeavors, and then continued on his way up the hill, leaving his parting quip unsaid.

**(To be continued, someday...)**


End file.
